


Letters to a Dead Man

by Vampy



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Gen, Letters, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Sadness, Sadstuck, this is what happens when I listen to sad music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:35:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampy/pseuds/Vampy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All of his letters started the same way. It didn't matter that none of them would ever be read. It didn't matter that he would never read those words, see the emotion threaded in them. It didn't matter that the paper would burn like a thousand letters before it.<br/>It didn't matter.<br/>He just missed him.<br/>And he want him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters to a Dead Man

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for this- it's what happens when I'm left to think too long.

"Dear Karkat;

I am so motherfucking sorry for leaving. Today, I had to do some more shit that I ain't proud of…"

 

\-----

 

All of his letters started the same way- 'I am so sorry'. Those words were written on so many letters, so many papers that he couldn't count them. If he wrote it over and over again, maybe then Karkat would know. If he wrote it in blood, wrote it in stone, wrote it in the star- maybe he'd know... It didn't matter that all the letters- the precious words that reflected all that he felt, the sentences that held so much weight, the papers that were like bits of heart and soul- would never make it to their destination. None of them did. They all perished after being created, burned or shredded or just tossed aside in a fit of tears and ruthless screaming. But that was okay because maybe if he screamed until his throat went raw,he'd hear him. Not that it mattered. Karkat HATED him, he didn't care anymore- but that was part of the plan.  
The mirthful messiahs told him that he had to leave, to serve the angry green fucker for a while. He had to leave behind his palest bros, but he couldn't let the little guy miss him. Naw, that's not what could be in their diamond- when he left, he had to leave Karkat angry with him. He had to leave the red blooded troll before their blood pushers could explode. He had to save the nubby-horned troll's little heart,even though it sometimes felt like the troll had left his own with the cancer. Karkat hated him though, despite the fact that he would throw himself at the other's feet and beg for acceptance. Karkat would never miss him, love him, care about him ever again.  
But still, a motherfucker could hope that somewhere, his bestest of bros still thought about him sometimes.

 

\-----

 

It hurt, a bunch. There were holes riddled in his torso (bleeding the same damn indigo), more bruises than skin (little green motherfucker hit hard), probably a few broken bones to top it off (were his arms supposed to have a joint there?). But still, the indigo blood slept- fitfully albeit, and with extreme difficulty. He'd probably tear open old wounds just by tossing alone.  
Eventually the horrorterrors- the ones he helped dammit- woke him in a fury of fear and anger and rage at the world, and oh god why was everything cold and dark and lonely, where was his lusus and where was Karkat, and where was everyone that he fucking loved, why was he so alone and vulnerable where everything and everyone could get him and his MIND was collapsing on itself- he was going to die and it was his own fault because the ones he killed would come back and torment him until-  
"Hey, fuckass, go back to sleep, you're alright. I'm here."  
The familiar, scratchy voice silenced the frightened indigo blood, and his eyes widened- searching the dark for his bro. Karkat was here! He was here, and everything was going to be okay, they could cuddle and go back to sleep and when he had to wake up again Karbro would help fix his wounds and tell him everything would be alright. But where was he?  
"Karkat?"  
A quiet, gruff whisper cut through the silence and passed all the empty space. 

There was no response. There was no response because Karkat wasn't there, and he never would be. The indigo blood was just as alone as he had been when he woke up, and that terrible throb started in his chest. All of a sudden, the world seemed even bigger than it was before, and the indigo blood curled up; hugging his knees to his chest and resting his chin on his legs. He would close his eyes and dream; dream of having his bro by his side to hug him and tell him everything's all right. He tried not to whimper, and it came out a small whine of despair. His chest hurt, it hurt right where his bloodpumper should be; if he hadn't left it behind.

\-----

 

Sometimes, it was hard to sleep. The world was dark and lonely and scary- and it was worse when you were afraid of yourself. In those moments when he was lucid, absolutely reminiscent and calm, Gamzee realized how terrifying he was. He had killed, he did kill, he was ruthless and insane and yet just another fucking tool to be discarded when overused. He was broken in the worst way possible and he deserved to die- for murdering, for stealing, and for giving up on everything he'd ever held dear to his heart. The indigo blood pressed his hands against his face and tried to stop his shoulders from shaking. He was strong, he was smart, he didn't need to cry- but there were the tears, gliding down his coarse skin and barely smudging his black and white mask of paint. There was no escaping it. Gamzee needed to admit it.  
He missed him.  
He missed his angry little rants, laced with hidden concern and knowledge.  
He missed the warmth of his small body beside him.  
He missed the worry in his eyes.  
He missed the rare smiles.  
And for a moment, the mirthless Makara regretted everything, and went straight home and scooped the red blood in his arms and smothered him with hugs and paps. They laughed and danced and played and smiled and lived life to the best of their abilities. Karkat said that he missed him, and Gamzee said he was sorry. And the indigo blood was loved. Forgiven. He was welcomed back into the embrace and care of someone that was closer to his heart than his body. He could sleep in peace, live a life instead of this half-notion of such. He was happy, he had Karkat.  
But then the dream ended, and Gamzee was all alone.

 

\-----

"Dear Gamzee;

I miss you like hell…"

All of his letters started the same way.

**Author's Note:**

> Have fun with that.


End file.
